small corner

I sense the weirdness of time passing

and see how small
my place in the world is.
But this does not make me
feel unimportant.

I am vital to my small corner.

It could not be what it is
without me.

And that corner is plenty.

We would all like things to be simple
but that is not really
what happens here.

At times I would like to write
pages and pages of my sorrow
but I am not sure what else,
what different, I could say.

The grief is still here.
It is unaffected by my efforts.
Its depth varies from day to day,
but it does not leave.

I don’t know what other way to say it.

The doctor speaks to me slowly
so as not to alarm me
the way she would speak
to a scared animal.
I wish I didn’t appear
to require such gentleness.

But I will take what kindness I am given.

I arrive home to a cool house
amidst the early summer heat,
a happy husband marinating the chicken,
cats purring in their sleep,
and flowers in bloom in the front yard.

Who says this isn’t magic.

Greener

It was beautiful out,
blue skied with the sun shining,
on the day we did the planting.

It was the 13th too.
Not Friday, but a Monday,
surely a good omen.

Omens are important at times like these.

So is the rock I have been carrying in my left pocket,
near to my middle and all the important parts.
It’s the loveliest shade of green,
like a green light of hope
guiding my way.

Two days later comes a blessed rain
watering all that has been planted.

The rain makes everything
look and taste greener.

A Tractor on the Highway

Driving
I am stuck behind
a tractor on the
highway.
 
I curse,
embracing the anger
I feel at this inconvenience.
 
I worry for a moment about my
level of self-centeredness
(we all have one, and its best
to keep an eye on it).
 
When I arrive home I pick and eat
3 strawberries from the plants
growing by our back porch.
 
The sweetness reminds me of summers past
and the roots of a need to create
that is not new.
 
But now I cling to it more tightly,
because she who creates
cannot be barren.
 
I am not completely powerless yet.
 

Habitat

My love returns early
from his work in the woods
so as to not miss
my ovulating.

I try to resist the urge to rush.

It is an odd and unromantic beginning
but we manage to salvage the
the experience.

Later on our walk we spot
two male pheasants
fighting in the tall brush,
wings fluttering as they
jump wildly at each other.
The noises were brutal
and I cringed for them.

You tell me I am lucky
to witness this. That there
are few pheasants left these
days in these parts, and
that we happen to have
the perfect habitat for them.

I am momentarily reminded
by the darkening sky
that exploration is so
important for this
human soul.

And I suppose I am lucky,
as I also benefit from our
perfect habitat, and
I have been witness to
many rare things.

Natural Light

A field of purple
in the natural light
is almost unnatural
in its brightness.
When it moves
with the wind in
perfect evening light
it is otherworldly.

I wonder who decided
it was a weed.

There is so much
waste in this world,
and the journey
is long for all of us.

My tilted uterus
mirrors the oddness
of it, and the long and
winding road reflects
the x ray image that
the doctor shows me.

What a passage you
have in front of you
my sweet.

The things we
put ourselves through
for what we love
are often surprising.

Balance consists of
a series of decisions,
but we can’t be
right all of the time

I pause to
be happy
then go
back to work.

Ripening

The things our
bodies do are
quite miraculous
she tells me.

I went to the
doctor expecting
a stern face
and a lecture.
To be told to wait.
To keep trying.
To be patient.

But instead she listens,
not only to the facts of it,
but she lets me tell
the feel of it too.

The relief is immense
and hope comes in
on the rooms current.

Right now her body is
building a placenta
and a face.
No wonder she is
so tiered
she says.

I learned in my
first marriage
to be an
excellent liar,
which is sometimes
a very useful skill.

A berry hangs there
in the sun
ripening
slowly.
I taste the sweetness before
it gets to my mouth.

Catastrophizing

This morning in the
midst of a small but
severe freak out

I felt absolutely positive
we would never ever,
ever, ever have children
of our very own.

My husband, whom
I had abruptly woken
from a very deep
sleep, tells me that

he is going to begin
videotaping my rants
so that years from now
he can say to our kids

would you like to see
your mother acting crazy?

and they will all yell,
Yes! and we will laugh
together over my
red-headed
over reactionary
lack of patience.